The Girl in The Clash T-shirt
by catchingthegirlonfire
Summary: Sam and Dean get a call from Bobby about a situation in Toronto, in which women with the same face and DNA are being murdered. The boys get a little more than they bargained for when they figure out exactly who (or what) they are hunting.


The Chevy Impala streams down the deserted highway. Dean pumps the gas hard and the engine roars through the open land. He didn't get opportunities to run his car like this very often, he's been working case after case after case, with no time to rest in between. He's eager to get to Buffalo, to get a bacon cheeseburger at his favorite diner in the state. And maybe some pie. A little pie never hurt anybody.

Dean unknowingly taps his hand on the wheel, turning up _Simple Man _by Lynyrd Skynyrd at least ten clicks on the old radio. He nods his head as the track skips, like it always did, on the second verse. He had played the tape more times than he could count, it was not a wonder it was broken. Everything in his life is broken, but Dean doesn't mind. As long as the tape keeps on playing, it's worth saving.

Sam tuts loudly at the noise, shuffling the large map of New York in his hands. Several second later, after sighing loudly, he reaches down to the dashboard, turning the music down. "Hey," Dean says, "I was listening to that."

"I know, I know," Dean says, noticing Sam's face, "I know you don't like it loud."

"I just don't like this song," Sam says, turning back to his map, "Never been a fan."

"Don't hate on Skynyrd, Sammy," Dean says, turning away from him to look out the window, muttering, "Just because you have no taste."

The two ride in silence for a minute, only punctuated by the ambient drum beat of the tape. Suddenly Dean's cellphone erupts. Sam flips it open, putting it on speakerphone.

"Bobby," he says, "What's up?"

"We've got a situation in Toronto," Bobby says, "I don't know if it's skin changers, demons, or what it is."

"Toronto?" Dean wrinkles his none.

"Yeah, Toronto," Bobby says, "You boys still in New York?"

"I don't want to go to Toronto," Dean stamps his foot, "It's supposed to be my day off!"

"Well put yourself in for some overtime because you two idjits best get your asses down there and figure out what's goin' on, you here?"

"Yeah, Bobby, we'll check it out," Sam says.

"Good, now listen up. There's been some murders up that way. But get this...," he pauses, "They all have the same face."

"Sounds like skinchangers," Sam says, "We'll take care of it."

"I'm not so sure," Bobby says, "I just got off the phone with one of my buddies that's up there and he says they're all different people, who have lived their whole lives in different places, with different people. It really doesn't fit the bill for much, that's for sure. I've been checkin' everything in my library, but there's no lore about this, son. Sorry that's not much to go on."

"Yeah, Bobby, that's nothing to go on," Dean says, tutting loudly.

Sam punches his brother in the arm lightly and Dean looks back to the road. "There's a lot them, at least ten. And somebody's picking them off one by one."

"A monster on monster vendetta," Dean says, "I like it."

"All these girls are from different parts of the world. I've got Danielle Fournier of France, Janika Zingle, Austria, Katja Obinger, Germany, and the list goes on and on. Now, these girls don't exactly fit the monster profile. From what I can tell they were as normal as they come, until a few months ago when someone must have happened," Bobby says, "We need to figure out just what that was."

"I think we're not asking the most important questions here," Dean says, "Are they cute? Or what?"

"C'mon, Dean," Sam rolls his eyes.

"You're not going to tell me that you hear there's all girls running around Toronto and you don't immediately think how awesome that it? You never know, she might want to bring her twin, her clone, or whatever they are," Dean grins, "What, I'm lookin' for a little r&amp;r and if Sally ten twins is hot I wanna know ahead of time. To prepare."

"Gross, dude," Sam says.

"Are you two finished?" Bobby asks.

"Yeah," Sam says plainly.

"Look, you're gonna meet a guy named Rick at the Utopia Motel. Room 324B. He's got some information for you. And get your asses in gear, this is important."

"Okay, Bobby, we'll be there," Sam says, hanging up the phone.

* * *

"C'mon!" Dean exclaims, "The friggin traffic in this town is ridiculous!"

"Well, it's not designed for cars this big," Sam says, "Maybe you could find a _bigger _car."

"Baby, close your ears," he taps his wheel a few times, "What's she ever done to you?"

"Dude, I think you have a pretty messed up relationship with your car," Sam laughs, looking out his window for the motel.

"Messed up? Says the guy that was just getting busy with a freakin' demon," Dean tightens his grip on the wheel.

Sam laughs but doesn't really find it funny. "There it is," Sam points towards the small motel at the end of the street.

"Utopia, huh?" Dean says as he navigates through the potholes in the rundown parking lot, "Not really."

They secure themselves a room with their fake credit cards stopping at room 321A before meeting with Rick. "I'm starving," Dean says, splashing water on his face in the dingy bathroom.

"I saw a burger place up the street," Sam suggests, "But we should probably pay Rick a visit first.

"Alright," Dean says, "As long as I get my burger. I feel like I haven't eaten in days."

"Dean, you had leftover pie for breakfast," Sam scolds him.

"So what?"

"You're going to have a heart attack and die," Sam folds his arms on his chest.

"Just because I don't eat the _grass _you call salad, doesn't mean I'm not healthy," Dean says, reasoning, "Hey, I dig at least one grave a week. I'm entitled to whatever friggin' burger I want, alright?"

"Whatever!" Sam throws his hands up, "Let's go."

Sam and Dean make the short walk to room 324B. Sam knocks sharply on the door but there is no answer. He waits a few seconds and then tries to knock again. They exchange nervous looks as Dean pulls out his lockpick, intent on seeing Rick and getting the hell out of Toronto.

The door clicks open and the boys enter the room. "Jesus!" Dean exclaims as he pulls back the shower curtain to see Rick stabbed to death.

"Gruesome much?" he asks, "I guess Bobby was right, maybe it is our kind of thing."

Dean follows the trail of blood droplets out of the bathroom and onto the carpet. The trail stops abruptly, leading to the curtain but not the door. The killer is still in the room. Dean draws his gun but the woman is too fast. A stream of curly blonde hair flies at them as Dean fires his gun. He misses, shattering the lamp on the side table.

She jumps on Dean, knocking him down. "Why are you trying to kill my sestras?"

"Hey! Crazy!" Sam says, putting a gun to the back of her head.

"We can do this one of two ways," Sam says, "Just let my brother go and we can talk."

"No guns?" she says, eyes wild and red.

"No guns," he says, "And no knives."

The woman steadies herself, wiping the blood from the knife on her shirt. She straightens herself to stand but Sam swings the metal base of the lamp, knocking her out. She hits the ground and the brothers exchange a knowing look, they know what to do by now.

* * *

An hour passes and she slowly awakens, tied up tight in a chair. She tries to break free but her bonds are too tight. She glances to her left as Dean unfolds a towel, several instruments of terror lay upon it.

He sinks a rosary deep into a glass of water, throwing it on her, but nothing happens. "That was not very nice," she says in a thick Ukrainian accent, still trying to force herself free.

"Why are you keeping me here?" she asks.

"Why did you kill Rick?" Dean asks.

"What do you want with me and my sestras?" the woman asks, ignoring Dean.

"Who are you?" Sam asks, readying a silver knife.

"I am Helena, but you already knew that. You know about my sestras and he did too. You are bad, bad men. You want to kill us," Helena says.

"Hey listen, Crazy, I'm not the one who just offed a guy in the bathtub, alright?" Dean brushes her off, "Whatever's going on with your _sestras _it's drawing attention."

"What are you?" Dean asks.

"Helena," she repeats, blinking up at him through bloodshot eyes.

"Skinchanger? Shapeshifter?" he clarifies.

"I am Helena," she repeats.

Dean throws his hands up in frustration. "Look, dude," Sam says aside to Dean, "She obviously belongs in the nuthouse. Maybe she doesn't know anything."

"C'mon, Sammy, you know she does. She's yanking our chain," Dean's brow furrows, "You just have a soft spot for the broken ones."

"No I don't!" Sam defends himself, "You're just touchy because you're hungry."

"If we had gone out to eat like I had wanted we wouldn't have run into Crazy in the first place," Dean retorts.

"You are braty, I can see," Helena says.

"Did she just call us _bratty? _The never of some people, you know?" Dean says.

"Brothers," she says lowly as Sam puts the silver to her skin, again to no result.

"Sestras and braty," Sam mutters, straightening himself, "You mean they're your sisters, don't you?"

"Sam, that's crazy. I'm no doctor but cranking out like ten sets of twins seems pretty impossible," Dean interjects.

"Its not 1975 anymore Dean, there's a little thing called IVF," Sam says.

"IVF only goes so far," Dean considers his point.

"Sarah and I were the first," Helena admits, "The others came later."

"So you're what then?" Sam asks.

"Clones," a voice bellows as the door swings open.

"Helena, what the bloody hell do you think you're doing running off like that? You know DYAD's all over us. And the Prolethians," the woman says, waving a gun in the air.

"Drop your guns!" she demands in a heavy Brixton accent, her ripped London Calling shirt rising above her hips.

Dean raises his eyebrows at her as he surrenders. "Like The Clash? Me too," he says, "Joe Strummer is one of the most badass guys ever."

She wrinkles her nose in disgust, unimpressed by his pass at her, "Who are you?"

"They are trying to kill me," Helena suggests, "But are not doing a very good job of it."

"We're not trying to kill her," Sam corrects Helena, "She killed our friend Rick and we want to know why."

"Rick was trying to kill us," the woman says, "And you're just here to finish the job."

"Nobody has to kill anybody," Sam waves his hands in front of her, "We got a tip about a whole bunch of murders and we're just here to check it out."

"You cops?" she says, tightening the grip on her gun, looking up at the devil's trap on the ceiling, "Satanists?"

"Neither," Sam says, "We're hunters."

"And what exactly do you hunt?" she asks.

"Monsters," Dean says, "Anything that goes bump in the night, really."

"You can't be serious," she dismisses them.

"Says the lady claiming to be a clone," Dean says, "Are you Sarah?"

"What's it to you?" Sarah asks.

"Helena told us, that's all," Sam pacifies her, "Maybe you could tell us more about the clones. We promise, we mean you and your sisters no harm."

"This not the first time a man's lied to me," Sarah says, "Hunters hunt, right? They don't let the easy kills get away."

"Untie her," she adds, gesturing with her gun to Helena's bonds.

Sam and Dean make to untie Helena, pulling at the thick rope and handcuffs binding her hands, arms, and feet.

Sam sees a flash of silver as he's hit in the head with her gun before all fades to black.

* * *

Dean peers through bleary eyes as a room slowly comes into view. "S-Sammy," he smacks the body next to him, "Sam, wake up!"

He looks around the large loft, graffiti-like paintings litter the room, they are propped up in dinner chairs in the center of the room, as several people circle around them, worried, pacing.

Dean tugs at his bonds but they won't pull. "Don't even try it, sweetheart. Those are my knots you're pulling at," a young man smirks at him, "I've bonded a lot of men in my day."

The man winks at him and Dean recoils. Sam begins to stir beside him. Dean looks from face to face, but short of the one man, they are all the same. "What are your names?" a woman with black fringe and tight yoga pants asks, folding her arms across her chest.

"I could ask the same of you," Dean winks at her.

"I am a married woman," she points her finger at him warningly, "Answer the question."

"I'm Dean and this is Sam, my brother," he admits.

"I found these on them," Sarah steps forward, handing their fake FBI badges to the woman.

"Agents Plant and Page," she reads out loud, "Do you take us to be fools?"

She throws them aside, onto the table. "Led Zeppelin, really?" she says, "It's not as if Donnie made me listen to Stairway to Heaven a thousand times when we were in college."

"Well Donnie has an excellent taste in music," Dean interjects.

"We didn't bring you here to talk about some stupid band, alright? Why would hunters want anything to do with us? Clones or not, we were _born. _We're not monsters," she says.

"And what do you call that thing, over there?" Dean points to Helena, "She murdered a man in cold blood!"

"Look, we came here to investigate the murders. When we heard that all the vics had the same face is sent up a red flag," Sam tries to explain, "We don't kill people for fun. We're trying to save them."

"There's probably a hundred and one things in this city alone that could kill us dead right now, and it's our job to destroy them," Dean adds.

"But we're just people," a sickly voice says overhead, "We were born. Born of science, yeah, but we're not monsters."

"The real monsters are DYAD," the voice adds.

"Who is that?" Dean tries to turn around but he can't see her.

"Cosima," the voice calls.

"What's wrong with her?" Dean asks.

"She's sick," Sarah answers.

"Well, we're sorry to hear that but there's nothing we can do for you," Dean says, "We'll leave and promise we never saw anything."

Sam clicks his knife as he talks, beginning to sever the bonds behind his back. "Hey!" Sarah jumps up, charging at Sam, grabbing the knife, "Gimme that!"

She throws the pocket knife onto the table. "I wasn't born yesterday, was I?"

"I don't know that," Dean scoffs, "Who knows, you're clones. For all we know you were grown in a test tube this morning."

"We're twenty-six years old for your information," the woman with the fringe says, pursing her lips, her ponytail swinging behind her.

"Alison, you're twenty-nine," the man reminds her.

"Gee thanks, Felix," Alison says, "Didn't think there was any harm in shaving a _few _years off."

"Tell us more about hunting," she demands, looking to the boys, "And _don't _make me bring out my glue gun."

"Bloody hell," Felix mutters, "She's a craft-mom nightmare."

"We hunt and kill demons, werewolfs, vampires, the list goes on and on. There's awful things out there. Stuff of nightmares," Sam starts, "It's not as if anyone really _wants _this job."

"Then why don't you leave?" Sarah asks, pulling out a chair, turning it around, and sitting on it the wrong way.

"Asking us to leave the life would be like asking you to leave-"

"Clone club, got it," Felix interrupts Dean.

"Fee, Alison," Sarah stands, beckoning them to the far side of the room with her finger.

They talk fast making plans, the two boys exchange nervous glances. Shaky footsteps pound above as someone descends to their level. "You sound hot," Cosima's shaky voice quakes, "I had to see for myself."

"Ooh," she throws herself backwards, into Sarah's chair, "You are cute."

Her oxygen tank murmurs and buzzes ambiently in the background. "I like your hair," Dean nods, "I could get into that. Rasta vibes."

"Sorry," she heaves, "I don't really swing that way much anymore."

"Really?" Dean nods, biting the inside of his lip unknowingly, "We could see about that."

"Only if I can bring my oxygen tank," she coughs, laughing, "The most unsexy thing in the world."

"Why do you need it?" Sam asks.

"Bad science," she nods solemnly, "I'm dying."

"Several of the clones that were killed were like me," she continues, "The science wasn't exactly sound. There are some fatal flaws. Particularly in my lungs."

"I'm sorry," Sam says, his brow furrowed.

"We were created by the DYAD institute, and they were helping me for a while. Until of course they took Sarah prisoner," she explains, "We had to get the hell out of there fast."

"But we're their intellectual property, it's coded into our DNA," she add, wrinkling her nose, "They own our pathetic clone asses."

"If I were you I would have killed them all. No DYAD, no big brother looking out for you," Dean suggests.

"It's impossible," Cosima says, "You don't know how many times we've tried."

"Cosima?" Alison comes over to her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, "Sweetie, there is something we need to discuss."

"Alright," Cosima says as Alison helps her stand.

Alison shoots Sam and Dean daggers behind Cosima's back as they slowly come to join the others. "What do you think?" Sam whispers to Dean.

"I don't know, Sammy. That girl didn't strike me as a liar," Dean answers, "They could be right. It's just some bad science."

"We've come to a decision," Alison claps her hands together, interrupting Sam and Dean.

"You will help us get something back from DYAD and we will give you your freedom," she says.

"I don't really think it's our kind of thing," Dean says.

"They collected some bone marrow from Sarah's daughter, Kira, and we want it back. There's one vial left in the lab and we need it to treat Cosima. You get it back and you can leave with your lives."

"How can you be sure we won't just get away?" Sam asks, "Or kill all of you?"

"Sarah will be going with you," she says plainly.

"That won't do much good, sweet cheeks," Dean says.

Alison slaps him hard across the face. "That's why we'll be keeping Tarzan here with us," she turns to Sam, "As collateral."

"If you can get anything from my lab we'd really appreciate it," Cosima says, "Last time I left it was in a hurry."

Alison cuts Dean's bonds. He moves his jaw around, pressing his hand to his face. The red sting of her slap slowly fades away.

Sarah points a gun at him from behind her. "Don't try anything funny," she points her gun towards the staircase outside of the room.

"I've got this, Sam," he says, turning, "You just sit tight."

"Yeah, I really don't have much choice," he says as the door slams.

"We need to go back to the motel," Dean says, "And get some things."

"I have everything we need," Sarah says, "I've got guns."

"It ain't just guns we need," Dean says, "Motel, now. If you want my help."

Sarah comes to concede as they reach the street. "Hey!" Dean exclaims, "You stole my car!"

"Nobody steals my car," he rubs the hood.

He opens the trunk and props it up with an old sawed off shotgun that had belonged to his father. "Ah," he says, lifting out a white box of leftovers, "Dinner."

"You've got to be kidding me," she says as he throws it open, sinking a revolver into the back of his pants, "You were going to make us go back to a motel three miles away for leftover pie."

"Rule number one, never work on an empty stomach," he warns her, "It makes me cranky."

"Give me the keys," she demands, "I'll drive."

"Nobody drives my car," he brushes her off.

"You forget who the prisoner in this situation is," she says.

"I could kill you stone dead right now, with my pie in one hand. Go upstairs and kill all of your sisters and take my brother back by force, is that what you want?" Dean suggests.

"Get in the car," he says as he slides into the driver's seat and turns the key.

He presses the button on the tape player and the tape pops out. He reaches into the glove box and pulls out a new one, sliding it into the slot, cranking the volume.

_When they kick at your front door_

_How you gonna come?_

_With your hands on your head_

_Or on the trigger of your gun_

_When the law break in_

_How you gonna go?_

_Shot down on the pavement_

_Or waiting on death row_

The Clash blares as his car roars and he hits the gas. "If you're trying to impress me, it's not gonna work," she says.

"_You can crush us! You can bruise us...But you'll have to answer to...Ohhhh, the guns of Brixton…_" Dean mouths along, "You can't tell me you don't love this song."

Her brow furrows and she says, "Of course I do. They're the greatest band in the world. Not that you think so, _Jimmy Page."_

"Zeppelin creams the Clash anyday ask anyone," Dean smiles.

"Take a left up here," she adds quickly, half forgetting what they are about to do.

Dean takes a large bite of pie as he turns the wheel with one hand, his left foot tapping on the ground to the beat. "My brother hates this song," he laughs.

"You're brother's an idiot," she comments, mouthing the words out of the side of her mouth.

"Yeah, sometimes. But I've gotta look out for him, you know? He's my little brother," Dean says.

"That's like me and Fee," she sighs, "But he seems to be the one looking out for me."

"I don't wonder why," Dean comments.

"Take a right on Drummond," she ignores him.

"Listen, Dean, whatever your name is, this isn't gonna be easy," she warns him.

"I've been in tougher scrapes, believe me," Dean brushes her off, "Nothing here wants to rip out our throats with their teeth. It's an upgrade, really."

"You make it sound so easy, but these people have made our lives a living hell," Sarah says.

"You wouldn't say that if you had been there," Dean's brow furrows.

"Come off it," Sarah says, "You've been to hell?"

"Yeah," he says, "Got pulled out by an angel a few years back."

"And they say Helena is touched in the head," Sarah remarks.

"It's the truth, ask Sam when we get back," Dean says, "Scratch that. Don't ask him anything."

"Why?" she asks.

"It's not just me that's been to hell. My brother had it worse. Way, way worse," Dean answers.

"What's it like?" she asks.

"Why, you worried you're gonna end up there?" he asks.

"I've done a lot of bad things in my life," she says.

"It sounds like you've also had a lot of things happen to you in your life," Dean says, "Don't be so hard on yourself."

"The DYAD institute will be up this street, to your left," she says.

Dean throws his takeout container into the back seat and turns the radio off. He pulls into the lot of a gas station as they make to go the rest of the way on foot.

"There it is," Sarah whispers as they take cover behind a tree.

"Right. Those two doors," Dean points, "They're unguarded. We'll get in there."

"There's security camera's everywhere," Sarah says.

"Put your hood up," he says as she lifts the hood to her leather jacket.

"They don't know my face," Dean says, "I could be anyone."

"We'll have less than ten minutes," she says.

"Do you know where we're going?" Dean asks.

"Yeah," she answers.

"Go!" he says as the forge their way towards the doors and into the building, their guns drawn inside their jackets, ready for a fight.

"It's two flights up on the left," Sarah whispers in the stairway.

They race up the stairs with haste, eager to get in and out. If any of Rachel's people found them they would kill them in an instant. "Here," Sarah says.

"It's locked!" She pulls at the knob.

"Move," Dean says, reaching into his pocket for his lockpick, "Hey, what the hell, what did you do with it?"

"Alison took it," Sarah says.

"And you didn't think to give it back when we're breaking into a damn building?" he whisper yells.

"Get off my ass, I'm doing the best I can!" she retorts.

"Alright, alright," Dean thinks, "A hairpin, do you have a bobby pin?"

"No," she recoils.

"Of course, the one damn girl I take on a job doesn't have a bobby pin. What kind of crappy girl are you?" Dean asks.

"What about this?" she pulls off a metal wire from her keyring, "Will this work?"

"I don't know yet," he grabs her keys.

"Hurry up," Sarah says a minute later.

"I'm trying!" Dean protests, "You're not being very helpful."

"There!" he says, throwing open the door.

"Quick, quick! I hear footsteps!" Sarah says as they race into the lab.

They close the door as quietly as they can and take cover behind a large black table. They crouch on the ground an inch from each others' faces. Sarah shakes but Dean holds her arms down, nearly hugging her, as the door clinks open.

Two sets of men's footsteps fill the room. They take a few steps forward, not turning on the lights. Dean holds her face forward. "Look at me," he mouths wordlessly, "It's gonna be alright. Look at me."

"The bloody place is infested with rats," one man says, moving away, "That's the third time this week, a false alarm."

"Rachel's going insane," the other voice says, "They're chewing through the electrical cords."

The door slams and the two men exit. Dean and Sarah stay as they are for at least a minute before Dean peaks out from the side of the table and gives the all clear. Sarah throws her head against the table. "Bloody hell," she pushes her hair back.

"Cameras must be down," Dean reasons, "I've never been so thankful for _rats_ in my life."

"You alright?" he slides back down next to her.

Her shaking slows to a stop as she regains her usual composure. As Dean turns away he smiles to himself. Punk on the outside but not all the way through.

"I've got it," he says, "They've got her name on it,"

He puts the vial in his pocket. He takes the few behind it, shoving them inside the back. "I've got her research," Sarah says, "I don't know if it will help but it's a start."

"Right," Dean says, "Let's go."

He approaches the door but ducks immediately as a large man walks by talking on his cellphone. "They're crawling all over the hallway," he leans against the wall, out of sight, "We can't leave the same way we came in."

Dean scans the room and finds an air duct on the far side. "Through here," he says, peeling the panel off the wall.

"I'm terrified of enclosed spaces," she admits.

"I'd be more scared of death if I were you," Dean says, "Get in the damn duct. Hurry up."

Sarah climbs up and inside. Dean follows her, replacing the duct cover. "Go, go!" he says, "They're not stupid. They know something's up."

Sarah and Dean crawl through the duct for a long while, peering down into several rooms before finding a deserted hallway. Dean drops down from the ceiling, helping Sarah down after. Sarah pulls his hands from her waist as they linger for just a little bit too long. He shakes his head as they break into a run.

_Bam! _Gunshots erupt at them as they make for the door. "I'm getting too old for this!" Dean says as they break through the door, into a parking lot.

"This way," Sarah leads them down a corner.

Dean fires his gun, hitting one of the men chasing him, missing the second time, hitting a Volvo. He wrinkles his nose, half loses it mid run, but regains his balance. They flee into the trees, not stopping to catch their breath until they see the gas station.

They barely shut the doors as Dean hits the gas, still under gunfire, but leaving Rachel's operatives in the dust.

"Holy christ," she says, holding her forehead, looking out the back window, "That was insane!"

"Welcome to my world," Dean says, heading back to Felix's apartment.

He parks the car down a dark alleyway and they climb up the long stairs to the apartment. "Thank god," Felix says upon seeing them, "I thought you were dead."

"We almost were," Sarah says, "Dean saved us."

Dean reaches into his pocket and pulls out his hand covered in blood. "Dammit!" Sarah says, slamming her fist down onto the table. "We almost got killed and we have nothing to show for it!"

"Will these help?" Dean reaches into his back pocket, pulling out three vials of blood.

Cosima reaches out a shaky hand to take the samples as Alison cuts Dean's bonds. "We've got it," she exclaims through heavy lungs.

"What the hell is all over my pocket?" Dean asks.

"That was _my _blood," Cosima says, "Which we obviously have in plenty."

"It's a damn good thing you took those other samples." she adds.

"I guess so," Dean says, "Does this mean we're square?"

"Yeah," Sarah nods, "You saved my life more than once today."

"Welcome to the Clone Club," Cosima smiles at him, her beauty not lost through the tubes of her oxygen tank.

* * *

"Are you sure you won't stay?" Sarah asks as they shut the door to the apartment.

Sam heads down the stairs in front of them, headed for the impala. "Can't," Dean says, "Bobby's got another job for us. Wendigo loose outside Boston. Real nasty."

"If you do come back look us up," she says.

"Us or _you?" _Dean asks.

He reaches out and touches her chin. She pulls him in and kisses him hard on the lips, taking him by surprise.

"Me, us, whatever," she punches him in the arm, "I have a boyfriend, man friend, _thing, _you know. Anyway."

"It would have never worked," she adds.

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" Dean grins.

"Shut up," she says as he climbs down the stairs.

"Bye Dean,"

"Sarah," he nods as he climbs into the driver's seat ready for another day and another monster but feeling _much _better about the city of Toronto.


End file.
